


114 Ounces of Fluff

by domesticadventures, propinquitous



Series: grocery!verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cooking, Couponing, Curtain Fic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:57:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2645936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domesticadventures/pseuds/domesticadventures, https://archiveofourown.org/users/propinquitous/pseuds/propinquitous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“First of all, we already established I'm the boss and you can't tell me what to do.”</p><p>“That's not what I--”</p><p>“And second, I bet I can fit in this cart.” Before Cas even has a chance to argue, Dean pushes the cheeses to one side and hops into the basket. He grins up at Cas like the adult-sized five-year-old he really is. “...I can totally fit in this cart. Push me around super fast.”</p><p>--</p><p>In which Dean discovers Costco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	114 Ounces of Fluff

Cas is the one who buys Dean the membership. There’s an online deal where it’s only $45 for a year membership to Costco, plus they get store coupons for free pizza, cookies, and all sorts of frozen products.

“You can’t use manufacturer’s coupons there,” Cas says by way of explanation, “but I would like the opportunity to test their products. Consumer Reports rates their toilet paper a ‘Best Buy’.”

“You realize the nearest Costco is,” Dean says as he taps at his phone, “two hundred miles away? It’s in Omaha, dude. Why would we go that far for groceries?” He looks up and stares at Cas quizzically. Cas returns his gaze with a slight pout.

“Can we just try it? Dean, it’s only $45.” Dean looks over Cas’ face, at his widening puppy dog eyes and his eyebrows as they slowly creep upwards. Damn Sam for ever teaching him that expression.

“Fine,” Dean sighs. “We can go tomorrow.” 

Cas smiles and sets to work.

\--

Turns out, Dean has a profound appreciation of bulk products.

“Cas,” Dean gasps, “this ketchup is 114 ounces. That’s over _fourteen cups_ of ketchup. Do you have any idea what I can do with that much ketchup?”  
  
Cas starts to answer that no, he has absolutely no idea what anyone can do with that quantity of tomato-based condiment, but Dean’s already put the jar into their basket and is running across the aisle.

"They have a pump for this mayonnaise! A _pump_ for a 64 ounce jar of mayonnaise, Cas! What a time to be alive!” Dean is grinning in a way that Cas is worried might be perceived as a bit threatening by other shoppers, so he tries to send waves of thought outward to convey the fact that Dean is just very, very excitable. Dean’s voice brings him back to reality.

“Cas! Castiel! _Look_ at this jar of Nutella! Look at it, man!” Dean holds the jar next to his head for emphasis. Cas is forced to admit, begrudgingly, that a container of hazelnut chocolate spread roughly the size of Dean’s head is, in fact, rather impressive. Not that Dean gives him the time to articulate this thought. “Can I get it? Please?” Dean’s enthusiasm is accelerating, spinning faster and starting to catch everything around him.

"Dean, I got this membership for you,” Cas says earnestly, “You don't need my permission."

A moment passes and Dean is still looking between Cas and the Nutella.

“You’re the boss, Dean,” Cas clarifies, and at that, Dean tosses the Nutella into the basket and sprints around the corner.

By the time Cas catches up with him, Dean is panting a little from navigating such a huge cart through the aisles.

"Look at this roast!” Dean exclaims. He’s holding a cut of meat the size of his own thigh, looking at it with a mixture of trepidation and awe, like maybe he can’t figure out how he’ll possibly cook it, but he’s definitely up to the challenge. “Cas, it's practically a whole cow,” Dean concludes as he gently lays it in the basket.

They reach the dairy section next, and as Dean surveys everything he freezes in place, stands there frowning and swallowing hard. Cas looks around for something that might be upsetting Dean and doesn’t see anything. Sure, he thinks it’s a bit sad that they’ve put processed American cheese next to all the others as though it should be held in the same esteem as the aged cheddar and the havarti and the muenster, but he’s pretty sure that isn’t cause for getting that emotional, really. No one is going to force them to buy processed cheese if they don’t want any.

“Dean?” he asks, hesitantly. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, man,” Dean says, still glancing around the store, eyes shining. “Yeah. It’s just, being surrounded by all these huge things of food, all this variety. This was totally my dream as a kid, back when me and Sam spent so many years always on the edge of hunger or eating the same damn thing over and over even when we weren’t. It’s just...I can finally afford it. It’s kind of overwhelming, you know?”

Cas smiles softly in response, squeezing Dean’s hand. They stay like that for a moment, fingers laced together, until Dean recovers. Eventually, Dean nods once, taking a deep breath before declaring, perhaps a bit more loudly than strictly necessary, “Still, the money’s not mine! Let’s do this!” and lunging for the cheese cooler.

Cas can’t quite keep count, what with the speed at which Dean is moving, but he’s pretty sure they end up with at least twenty different kinds of cheese. As Dean continues his trek around the store, Cas begins to wonder if perhaps he’s made an enormous mistake in giving Dean free reign of the Disneyland of grocery stores. “Dean,” he says, half pleading, “I understand that you’re excited, but please tell me this is not going to happen every time we come here.”

“First of all, we already established I'm the boss and you can't tell me what to do.”

“That's not what I--”

“ _And second_ , I bet I can fit in this cart.” Before Cas even has a chance to argue, Dean pushes the cheeses to one side and hops into the basket. He grins up at Cas like the adult-sized five-year-old he really is. “...I can totally fit in this cart. Push me around super fast.”

“Dean, I love you, but I am not going to indulge this fantasy.” Cas sighs, kneading his forehead.

Dean scowls and climbs out with a _hmph_ before turning to face the cookie and cracker aisle. A few moments pass and Cas thinks he’s in the clear, that maybe Dean is finally slowing down and will soon be ready to proceed to the exit, but then he notices Dean moving the heavier items toward the back of the basket and pushing the lighter packages to the narrow end. Cas watches, bemused. He’s about to ask Dean why he’s reorganizing the groceries when they’re about to check out when suddenly Dean pulls the cart back and starts running toward the center aisle. Once he gets there, he pauses just long enough to ensure that disaster does not await in the form of a small child or another cart, and then hops onto the low bar, coasting down the aisle without touching the floor. Cas can’t see his face, but he’s sure Dean is smiling like a maniac. 

Still, Cas has an obligation to protect someone -- either Dean from getting kicked out, other patrons from getting hurt, or at the very least, Costco from property damage.

He calls after Dean just in time to see a woman with a name tag hanging off her lapel speedwalking toward him. He picks up his pace, mouth already open and forming an apology before she even makes it all the way to Dean.

“Ma’am, I’m very sorry about this,” Cas says, aiming a pointed look at Dean as he climbs off the cart and backs away.

“I appreciate that, sir, but I’m still going to have to ask you to--” 

“Five minutes, please,” Cas says, breaking out the sad, pleading look Sam taught him. Dean is thankful for it, this time. “We’re almost done.”  
  
“I wasn’t going to ask y’all to leave, but if it happens again, I will have to.” She looks toward Dean, standing against a wall of twenty-four pack sodas, eyes on his shoes like a chastened child.

“I understand,” Cas says somberly. He shakes the manager’s hand and she gives him a small, serious smile before she turns away.

Dean huffs and breaks into a grin. “Thank god Sam wasn’t here,” he says, grin growing into a smile. “He would have dragged me out of the store ages ago.”

“I let you get away with far too much,” Cas sighs.

 “You mean like this?” Dean says before he crowds Cas up against a pallet of granola bars. He leans in to let out a hot breath against Cas’ ear and press his hips against Cas’ with the barest pressure.

Cas manages to keep a straight face as he says, very seriously, “I definitely do not think Sam would have let you get away with that.”

“All right, all right,” Dean says, laughing as he pulls away. “Let’s finish this trip up.”

“I would appreciate that,” Cas says, still feigning disapproval.

“And when we get home, I can help _you_ finish up,” he says, winking.

Cas hasn’t even finished rolling his eyes before Dean has stepped back up onto the cart and is rolling his way to the nearest checkout line.

\--

Sam meets them at the car to help unload, which is extraordinarily helpful given that he can hold several pallets worth of canned goods and no less than nine bags each trip. Thanks to him, they get everything inside relatively quickly and start unloading it onto the shelves that Cas built in one of the dungeons.

“Fantastic,” Sam sighs melodramatically, “now we have forty loaves of bread to go with all that bologna.” Dean freezes, an 18-pack of tuna in his hands.

“But we got rid of the...wait a minute.” He drops the tuna with a thud and pulls open the freezer. He rummages for a minute, freezes his hands as he excavates almost a hundred pounds of frozen vegetables. He reemerges with a distinct yellow package in hand.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” Cas’ expression is a perfect display of innocence, which more or less means that he’s generally unreadable. Dean keeps staring at him, holding the lunch meat, unable to pinpoint the source of his discomfort.

“Ugh, bologna,” Sam shudders. “Why did we buy that? Why did we buy _so much_ of it? We had that crap for weeks straight sometimes, like that time dad left us with $20 for groceries and was gone for six weeks when he said he’d only be gone for two.” 

Cas’ eyes widen at that. He turns to Dean and watches as his face sinks.

Dean breathes in shakily as the muscles in his chest contract around his sternum. He can’t find the words to talk about this, the way to express the depth of what Sam is describing. He feels stupid for being so upset, for letting some processed meat make him so angry. It was twenty years ago, it’s all so far away. He should learn to eat fucking bologna.

Cas watches the way Dean’s eyebrows arch up toward the center and his mouth opens a little, like he’s trying to figure out what to say. Dean’s cheeks are burning red with embarrassment. He inhales deeply, sets the package down, and starts to speak.

“Look, Cas--”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. I won’t bring this into our home again.” Cas immediately begins pulling the frozen lunch meat out of the freezer, putting it into some of the bags they’ve emptied from their recent shopping trip.

The tightness in Dean’s chest releases all at once as he nods.

He may never love bologna. His love for Cas, though? That he’s pretty sure about.

\--

Given the three and a half hour drive to Omaha, each trip to Costco has to be worth it. Cas spends a lot of time at the long library tables, going over the Impala’s mileage and the current cost of fuel versus the savings they get from buying in bulk. What starts out as an engaging mental exercise becomes a game as Cas tries to figure out how long they can make the food last before the next trip, and eventually he’s got spreadsheets detailing the price per ounce of every staple, of what constitutes every meal.

“So this casserole costs $1.23 per serving, huh?” Dean asks over Cas’ shoulder one evening.

“Yes,” Cas says. “Though the olives are the most expensive part, and I could personally forgo them.”

“Even better. I bet I can get it below 75 cents a serving.” 

“You’ll need coupons.”

“Well,” Dean says, “good thing we’ve always made a great team.”

\--

Spices are by far the thing Cas is most thrilled about. There are rarely coupons for spices, and even when there are, they still cost far more per ounce than Cas is comfortable with.

Costco is a godsend, allowing them to purchase huge containers of dozens of spices that drive the cost per ounce down dramatically. The first time they return with their haul, Sam surveys the groceries skeptically.

“Isn’t this going to make all our food taste the same?” he asks, frowning at a gigantic jar of minced garlic.

It only takes two days of meals to shut him up. Dean can work magic in the kitchen; he’s one of those people that can cook by taste alone, creating vastly different dishes by making small variations in types and amounts of different ingredients.

“This is...actually pretty impressive, Dean,” Sam admits.

Dean grins. “Just wait ‘til you see what I can do with ketchup.”

\--

Dean loves buying huge boxes of full size candy bars, and though he certainly doesn’t need a reason to do so, thank you very much, he likes it best at Halloween.

He goes to multiple towns to participate in every available “trunk or treat” event, and he’s consistently the person with the best candy _and_ the coolest car. He gets a huge kick out of the fact that while he has to clear out the weapons and other hunting paraphernalia from the trunk, he can leave the devil’s traps exposed, letting his warding give the Impala that Halloween vibe.

“Which kid is yours?” people ask, sometimes.

Dean grins back at them. “Kids?” he says. “No way. I have my hands full with this weirdo.” He jerks his thumb at Cas, who’s enthusiastically passing out candy in an absurdly realistic bee costume.

“If you’re a bee,” a little girl says, as if on cue, “where’s your honey?”

Cas smiles down at her and points, very meaningfully, at Dean.

Dean rolls his eyes, throwing a Kit-Kat at Cas. “Give me a break.”

\--

They decide to celebrate Cas’ birthday not on the anniversary of the first day he came to the bunker, but on the anniversary of the first time he came and decided to _stay_. That first year, Dean makes bison burgers on fluffy brioche buns. He lets the meat rest, gently kneads the spices in. He recruits Sam to help him cut thick slices of potatoes and soak them in ice water, and Cas dutifully slices and scoops avocado while the bacon fries.

When they finally sit down to eat, it’s several minutes before anyone actually speaks.

“This is the best meal I’ve ever eaten,” Cas says, because it is.

“Total cost was less than ten bucks,” Dean says proudly. “Mostly thanks to your coupon magic down at LaDow’s, but.” He grins around a mouthful of fries.

“Seriously, Dean, this is obscene,” Sam says. His plate has twice the amount of food as either Cas or Dean, and none of it is any shade of vegetable except the romaine on his burger.

“Marry me,” Cas moans, taking another bite.

“Already gonna, you dork.”

“Am I getting a good deal, though? Can I use coupons?” he deadpans.

“Yeah, Dean, there’re a lot of good deals on Diestel Turkey right now,” Sam says, a little too loudly. 

“Nope,” Dean declares, “I’m the Costco of potential husbands, no coupons allowed. I’m afraid you’re going to have to buy in bulk.”

“Is that so?” Cas smiles as he reaches across the table and takes Dean’s hand.

“Yep, so much matrimony it’s gonna last for the rest of your life.”

“Deal.”


End file.
